


Lucky Me

by ShitMcgee



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends, dumbasses to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitMcgee/pseuds/ShitMcgee
Summary: Dwight Fairfield has better things to do than go on some camping trip in the middle of nowhere. Like aimlessly wandering the city. His schedule is booked for the usual lonely Friday night-- that is, until he runs into someone equally lost.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Jake Park
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Lucky Me

**Author's Note:**

> i just slapped my ass around in google docs for a few hours i hope u enjoy

“Mmhmm yeah uh huh” The office worker finds himself nodding off as he provides his absolute full attention. His eyelids blink with languid shuts, relishing every moment the fluorescent lights cease. “Right yup you know me.” He speaks into the receiver of a phone set between his shoulder and head as his pale admittedly kinda chubby hands riffle through stacks of meaningless files. 

The papers dash from his hurried and mindless grasps, fluttering in broken stacks to the gray carpet. “Shit.” He swears, gathering the sheets out of order and finding a certain nausea creeping upon him at the repetitive sight of that cursed flooring. 

“Something wrong?” Derek prompts over the phone. An inquiry to his voice that Dwight so dearly detests. 

“No.” His glasses unlodge themselves from where they’re tucked behind his ears and fall with a muted thud against the floor. “I’m managing right now.” 

“So you’ll have it sorted--”

“Yeah in time for that trip tonight, sure.” And he listens to the blaring tone of a hung up phone that follows his last word. Yet another load of extra paperwork kindly granted to him. Dwight grumbles, palm crashing against the floor before it finds the lenses, fingers settling on the center of either lense before he slides them back on. Just in time it seems-- 

“Hey!” A grin settles unto his features, his signature sign of unruly panic. “Something up?” He nearly stutters through the crooked smile he flashes at his boss. 

“No, we’re doing fine, unless there’s some kind of issue here--” Speaks the foggy blur in front of him.

“Nah.” He places the mishmashed and upside down papers carefully back on his grey matte desk, then gives his glasses a quick clean. “All good.” 

“Good.” There’s a scowl to Lazar’s square face. Even his sideburns seem to frown. 

“Yeah-huh” His own pudgy cheeks upturn weakly. 

With a brisk nod, the other man turns and sets back on his journey to horrify anyone winking off, or in Dwight’s case, near royally screwing up. He sighs, eyes wandering to the monitor’s familiar screen. Wrinkling his nose, he shoves his face into crossed arms set against the desk, glasses sliding up in the process. 

He rubs his numb face against his arms, steadily urging blood back. This was his life now. Sitting here. Doing… whatever he did. Which was… let's see. Answering calls, and toying with code. Well he did server maintenance too kinda. 

Thinking about work, at work, just about 5 minutes before he usually leaves. Hell, if he’s not gonna focus might as well book it. Dwight peeks over his cubicle, eyes darting across the workspace, ear attuned to anything that wasn’t the clatter of keyboards. His boss was across the room now, chatting it up by a water cooler. It’s not really an office if it doesn’t have a watercooler. 

Dwight gingerly takes his coat off the back of his chair, crouching to avoid his mess of hair reaching over the gray near empty walls of his space. Barren save for a couple pinned photos of him, his brother, and his ma. Then at least one pizza sticker, because at this point he felt legally obligated to make some mention of the old job anywhere he went. It might just be the most interesting thing about him. It did land him this job, for better or for worse. His mind leans toward worse, but it gets the bills paid, kinda. 

He slips into the coat, checking his watch. It reads 3 more minutes until leaving-- god why is he so worried? It’s not like he’ll be stopped if he wants to leave now. 

Yet teeth dig at his lip as he considers what happened last time. How getting “caught” resulted in an extra 30 minutes, forced upon him by his boss’s disapproving look and not so subtle threats. This was really just supposed to be something quick. Nothing but a job to hold him until he got somewhere more comfortable, more… enjoyable. But he can’t be the first sorry sap to believe that. At least PizzaWhat! Meant a consistent meal. Free pizza was his, being manager and all. Not that working at a somewhat safety hazard of a fast food joint was anything easy. 

“Mr. Flyfield!”

He stills in place, realizing how he’d been inching towards the exit of his workspace in quiet thought. 

“You clocking out already?” A brisk voice prompts.

At least it’s just Josh-- that wasn’t so bad-- 

“I just-- didn’t see you doing much today?” The mop of brown hair and sharp features peering over another cubicle mentally prods at him. 

Okay Josh was the absolute worst. Some days Dwight takes his whole space, uproots it, and moves to the other side of the room just to avoid him. In his head anyways. He gets a lot done in his head. That Dwight was a real productive, muscular, and confident guy.

“Yeah. I am. Goodnight--” Dwight speaks hurriedly. 

“If you go now you're gonna miss everyone leaving for the camping trip.” He cocks his head with a shit-eating grin. “You’re not avoiding it are you?” 

“No I just have to get home is all-” 

“To what?” 

“Excuse me?” His head snaps to Josh. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off as rude or anything. It’s just-- you live alone don’t you?” 

“I need to hurry home to my wife and kids” He flashes a final painfully fake smile before turning toward a distant doorway. It’s already a minute past when he’d normally leave. John's empty chuckle echoes with his exit. As per usual he can't leave without at least one comment from him. Normally Dwight gets stuck much-- much longer but there was no way in hell he was going to that trip. In the middle of the woods. At night. That’s a classic horror movie scenario, and he is far from the last survivor type. He’d probably turn up drowned in the nearest toilet. 

The office worker steps into a clean elevator, thumbing the parking lot button. Then sways idly back and forth on his heels until the sleek doors slide shut. Some posters line the inside. Mainly advertisements for medicine with potentially deadly side effects listed in small font. There’s another to help with sleep… almost worth considering. He feels tentatively for the bags beneath his eyes. Screens didn’t help much. That and a couple bad dreams kept him up near consistently. Dwight leans against the backmost wall, his stomach rising against the steady downward motion. 

Heading home without another hitch it seems, as the doors slide open to his destination. Not another soul in sight. 

Fishing the keys fixed with endless charms out of his pocket Dwight looks for his rinky dink 1996 Corolla. It’s scratched from other car doors, dented at the back from a rear end, and complemented by a coating of chipped gray paint. The scent of pizza permanently locked into the leather seats bored with holes brings everything together. He listens for its weak horn. After about 5 minutes he stumbles upon it, eyes narrowing at the stick figure family pasted to the back window-- stuck there by Josh. It was funny at first. Sorta. He tugs the door open and slides inside, turning the key and finally heading home. 

***

Yup.. on his way home, Dwight lets his head drop against the steering wheel as he awaits the final green light to replace the red one. The same one he’s been staring at for what feels like an hour, and might actually also be an hour. The worst part about leaving was the traffic. He sighs, staring at his chipped fingernails. Gnawed and ugly from another days worth of not having a breakdown in the toilets, as per his style. Hyperventilating could pass for anything in there. 

He reaches with a drooping arm for the radio, his fingers playing with the small dial. Static-- voices-- static-- another pop song-- static-- uhh spanish channel. A groan escapes him until finally, his eyes widen with recognition. Man, when was the last time he heard some good music? His worried lips purse with a melodic hum as he follows the guitar riff of one iconic “Sweet Child of Mine.” 

“OOOOOOoooOOO oOOO sweet love of--I mean-- child of mine.” He stutters, but clears his throat and prepares to make the most authentic guitar sounds anyone has ever bared witness too. 

He holds his electric guitar, fingers darting flawlessly along the chords and strumming each one for his rhythm. His grip tips and swings the guitar up while he plays his heart out, perfectly in tune even as he winks at the audience, which he realizes is just an old lady crossing the street rather slowly while his green light winks out of existence. 

“Where do we go now, Where do we go?” He chants in a low voice, maybe popping his collar. 

“OOoooo Where do we gOoOoo. OOoo---” Dwight jumps, glasses nearly sliding off his face as the car behind him blares at the warning of a yellow light. “Tough crowd.” He humors himself stepping on the gas and heading down the last block. Soon to veer a sharp right away from flashing city lights into quiet streets, into a worn down parking lot, and inevitably-- 

***

Home. 

The man goes face first into a cheap mattress, shielding himself from the bland white of his apartment’s walls. There’s his desk riddled with paperwork some ways off, doodles smudged onto empty sheets, and a dead laptop half opened. His trusty lamp fixated on the sheets and a dog eared fantasy novel. A couple comics lay on the seat of his set folding chair. Most of which about Spiderman, if he was being honest. Oh to be a crime fighting superhero masquerading as just another guy… 

If it didn’t cost extra to have pets around, he really would love to pick up something small. Maybe a bird, or a hamster. It’s silent in his apartment, even with the thin walls. Everyone was out right about now. Running around town, enjoying themselves. Living. It was Friday night after all. 

Dwight settles on his cheek rather than his face, and stares at a wooden bedpost. There was that camping trip tonight… 

But there’s really no point in going is there? It’s just gonna be like last time. More drinks and doing things he’ll absolutely regret. Not that regret was out of the ordinary. Neither were blinding headaches. It’s… probably better than being here tonight. Alone. Again. 

He grumbles, fishing a cracked phone from his pocket. Tapping in his password that was not his birthday because he’s slicker than that-- and darting through whatever free apps he’d thrown on in boredom. Page after page after mind numbing page, until his thumb lingers above a familiar, daunting icon of a white flame against a pleasant orange. 

It couldn’t really get any worse, right? 

His back is against the bed now, hands toying with unopened apps. One foot hanging off and dragging through another pile of unwashed clothes. 

Well… any one of his co-workers could stumble on it. God he’d never hear the end of it. Or-- oh what if his mom found it?! She’d never stop fussing, she’d try to organize the whole date, and if he declined then she’d show up as the waiter. Psh-- waiter, like he’d go for an expensive option. Girls liked free dinners, he liked free dinners, but his wallet didn’t. Right about now he has to be careful anyways, so there’s not much of a point. 

The phone slips from his grasp, thunking against his nose and sliding into thin blankets.

Reaching for it, he grimaces, realizing Tinder opened by some trick of fate. With mild interest he eyes the account. 

Dwight Fairfield 

30

Yikes, just seeing that number really knocks the wind out of him. His eyes glue to the bio, even as he tries to stare just about anywhere else. 

_Just your average guy! Hardworking, dependable, and adventurous. Pineapples on pizza for life!_

It’s taking just about every bone in his body not to physically crumple just reading it. Really-- it’s not that bad. The photo just might be though. Did he have a good side? At all? Maybe one where blemishes from high school didn’t insist on showing?

Three potential matches. That’s new. 

A blonde, great hair, even better complexion. She seems like the party type, fun to be around, social, probably well off in just about every aspect. He slides left.

A brunette, insanely cute, it’s a wonder they matched at all, he sits up a bit, scrolling through pictures. All of which are… group pictures. As was her icon. Really he’d just assumed she was the brunette. Not a single pic goes without at least three other girls. Sliiide to the left. 

And finally, someone who is far-- far older than 30 as their account suggests. Left. 

**_No new matches!_ ** It reminds him, as it does everytime he gets lucky enough to strike one. Didn’t matter anyways, he couldn’t stand alcohol and dinner was off the table. No one really wants to go for a walk through the park or something. If only real arcades were still around, he reflects dreamily. Maybe he should just… broaden his horizons. Take on more options. Yeah. Only because he’s desperate. 

Yeah that’s a good idea. He taps on preferences, staring at the gender options. 

Men. He’s really feeling brave tonight then. 

Dwight taps it on, feeling silly for even hesitating. It’s not like he’d find anyone, or even… like… uh. His eyes widen at the notification of a match. 

David King. Accompanied by several shirtless pics. 

Dwight swipes left, feeling increasingly hopeless. 

***

Alright-- Tinder was an obvious bust. But he wasn’t gonna stay at home tonight. Not again. Dwight slips into a fresh hoodie lined with orange and white. After tugging a beanie over his head and pulling a pair of worn jeans on, his eyes glance over the mess of a room. Clothes strewn about, a couple empty bags of chips, half a pizza on the coffee table and balled up napkins or papers decorated on shelves to the floor. Looks like the perfect night to head out. 

He locks the door shut behind him, then whips his head in either direction of the corridor. _Coast is clear._ The warm light of his apartment is drowned out by the flickers of the hall. He fiddles with his hands as he walks on. Squeezing his wrists then picking at old scars. The walls are near white, cracked paint and occasionally interrupted by small doodles by the neighbors’ kid. A smile teases his lips at a crudely drawn sunflower. 

Dwight halts before the elevator, listening idly to it ding its way upward. No bars-- that’s a given. Maybe the mall? Where everyone walks in clear pairs or groups. Chatting, eating frozen yogurt, buying smoothies and-- 

He can’t really be this pitiful. 

His hands brush the all too familiar set of twin bracelets permanently affixed to his wrist in silent confirmation. 

Who knows, tonight he could luck out. Meet someone halfway decent AND get froyos. The sleek doors smudged with fingerprints slide open allowing him entry. Whatever happens tonight, he’s just glad he’s not home struggling to sleep, or hanging around with Derek. Knocking himself silly with drinks until he forgets how awful they’ve been to him the past year. 

Sheesh. 

Dwight combs a hand through his strands still damp from a quick shower. It’s warm tonight, the occasional breeze chilling enough to warrant a hoodie but nothing more. 

After whistling to some endless tune playing throughout the elevator, it rings open, and he steps into the lobby. Empty. Go figure. Trash litters the floor near the mailboxes. An argument resounds from the floor above. At least the city wasn’t far, with its sprawling streets and bustling crowds. Vibrant lights and sights just waiting to be adored by hefty pockets. Music playing pleasantly in the square, with store doors thrown wide open. Holiday decorations already in stock, despite it being months early. Stepping quietly through the barren hall, he pushes outside. 

It’s dead silent, save for crickets echoing down the sidewalk packed with overgrown weeds. His checkered shoes patter down the street. The sun had only just hidden away behind the stretching forms of buildings. It’s golden glow had lingered on far off glass planes, twinkling before it descended entirely. Now Dwight whips his gaze about in the darkness. Childish fear lingering about his consciousness with blurs of shadows in his peripherals. He swallows. A sudden damp sensation lines his forehead. 

It’s just a quick walk… If he goes a bit further he can hear the distant melodies of the city, and they can hear him. His pace quickens, breath amplified in the silence. Why was he walking? He hated walking. Even if parking cost an arm and a leg, a maniac in the dark would bill a lot more. He could fight someone off. If his life depended on it, Dwight balls his hand into a fist and drops his posture, trying to look as threatening as possible as he nearly scampers along. 

It’s not like the crime rate around here was high, but it wasn’t zero. Oh god what about rabid animals? What if-- what if a stray dog dragged him someplace and made his insides outsides-- 

He gasps, jerking backward at the sight of movement up ahead, and the deep chime of a bell. There’s a tail swishing through the crisp night air, wide reflective eyes watching him in the dark, close to the ground, no doubt waiting to strike. 

A cat emerges, stopping briefly to scratch its ear before lazily focusing on him once more. Its small bell jingles about its collar. 

Maybe he was a lil paranoid. Dwight crouches, tilting his head and making kissy noises at the lithe form until it reaches for his outstretched hand. “Daw what are you doing out here all alone lil guy?” He scratches lightly at the small head, then behind its ear. It purrs and presses closer, much to Dwight’s giddy delight. “Y’know I only ever had a cat back home. My actual home-- with Ma, Clyde, and everything.” His palm grazes gently down its back. “You got someone looking after you I bet.” In silence, his exhausted gaze turns upward. A handful of stars twinkle against the expanse of stunning dark blue. There wasn’t a single familiar constellation to make out. A couple clouds linger across the sky, just barely shrouding the spill of moonlight. 

The man blinks then returns to watch the cat in his hands. It stares nowhere else but him. “There’s plenty of stars to see in the countryside… Not that that’s any place for me. Hey if you ever need a random fact to impress your cat friends I’m your human guy.” The statement is complemented by the small gesture of weak jazz hands. After a final head pat, Dwight stands, making way to the city again. The cat moves about his heels for a moment tempting him to stay before it stills. Dwight smiles, looking over his shoulder to give it a final goodbye. It’s black fur rustles as it sits, unmoving beneath the last streetlight. Its amber eyes wide open while the wind carries and rattles its cute little bell.

He tugs the cracked phone with a pair of headphones from his pocket, tapping on Spotify and scrounging through several playlists categorized by mood. MCR usually did the trick. But Guns and Roses were really to be awed. And listened to on repeat for several days. Decisions, decisions, Dwight squints at the screen, careful to prevent the knotted blue wires of his earbuds from getting any worse. Maybe something randomized? It’s not like he usually ventured out into the city, why stop changing it up?

It’s about 8:59 now, he notes. 15 Minutes since he left, about 5 until he sees the bridge, another 40 to cross--

Dwight screeches as he bumps headfirst into some creature of the night, arms flailing and his phone, along with his headphones clattering against the pavement. 

\--Wait. 

He peeks through his arms thrown up in defense. _Oh it’s just some guy._ The stranger turns to reveal a stern face nearly coated with dirt, and a beard cut close to his face. Though he’s almost positive he saw something move in the facial hair. There’s a thin black hood over his head blocking most of the view.

_Please don’t murder me ThisguyissouglyPleasedon’tmurderme--_

“...” His scowl faces Dwight head on now, annoyance written on even his thick brows. 

“...” Dwight swallows, grinning suddenly. If he doesn’t move it won’t see him. That’s how it works right? 

“Hey--” The stranger begins.

“HEY.” His voice starts off far too loud, rather than the cool, calm and collected vibe he so dearly sought. 

“...” 

“Uhm… How are you?” He can already feel his mouth quivering with any stupid thought that pops into his head. If anyone ever tried to interrogate him, they’d have one hell of a time trying to get what they’re looking for. 

His only response is a quirked brow. 

“I mean-- who are you? What’s your name?” 

“...”

“I’m Dwight.” He sticks a shaking hand out, suddenly aware of the gross scabs around his fingernails. Not that this guy would be looking at them. That would be weird. Right?

“...Jake.” A husky voice replies. He glances between Dwight’s face and his hand, until it’s obvious Dwight won’t stop until it’s shaken. His gloved hand raises, only to slowly push the greeting away. 

“Cool.”

“...” 

“...Seeee youuu later?” Dwight steps tentatively away, checkered shoes scuffing the pavement.

“Wait.”

“N-need something?” Maybe he should just start running?

“Where’s...” Jake snatches a flip phone from one of the many pockets of his beige cargo pants, and squints at the dim screen. “--the B… backrat hotel?” 

“The… Do you mean Baccarat.” Dwight gnaws his lip to avoid grinning again. _Does this guy have a room there? There’s no way…_ For a moment, he’s trying to picture Jake clean shaven, in a freshly pressed suit, that mess of knots on his head smoothed back, and demeanor a bit more arrogant.

“Yeah.” 

“I was heading in that direction-- sorta. I can help you get there.” 

“Can’t you just give me directions?” 

“Do you have a GPS?” He asks, equally monotone. 

Jake’s brown eyes dart away. 

“It’s easier if I just take you there. It’s far.” Not exactly how he imagined spending this Friday, but it’s a start. At least one of them will end up where they’re meant to be tonight. “Do you have a ride?” The taller man shakes his head, greasy strands swaying in unison. “We can walk across the bridge then take a subway. You mind?” Jake shrugs. Dwight tugs his phone off the ground and starts walking. The other follows a couple steps behind. 

It’s silent between them for all of one minute before Dwight becomes certain he’ll explode. It hardly mattered that he didn’t know what to say despite rehearsing an entire conversation 10 times by now. His ape brain flung words around and surely something would stick. 

“You don’t seem like you’re from around here.”

“...” 

“Where… are you from?”

“Airport”

“Airp-port. That’s how you got here right?” A grunt confirms his question. “And you’re positive you’re going to Baccarat?” Another grunt. “Have you been to the city before?” This time a quick head shake. Was that progress? “It’s amazing at first… the buildings, the lights. The charm kinda wears off after a while, but it’s still breathtaking.” Jake’s eyes are scanning the environment, squinting at foliage lining the streets, and then dropping to sprouts of weed underfoot. “I can show you around-- if we have time later. It’s packed with people this time of week but, there’s always a couple less crowded spots. If you know where to look…” He trails off, a familiar horizon tracing its way across his mind. 

“Oh, we’re almost at the bridge. It’s kinda lengthy… There might be a couple boats out, they’re much nicer at night.” Honks blare in the distance, red brake lights bright against the dark. The smell of gasoline lingers in the air. Smoke flows in plumes from the exhaust and wisps into the night. Dwight wrinkles his nose hoping the water’s subtle scent would find him. 

The pair of loners step onto the pedestrian walk set above the road itself. Suspension lines stretch into the wide expanse above. “Sooo.” His eyes follow the wooden path and the white scratched paint lining its center from beginning to end. Benches line the sides along with wastebaskets, a crisscross pattern of steel decorates the waist-high railings. Over the whiz of cars heading home his voice rises in volume, barely. “Pretty good view so far?” 

Jake nods idly at him this time, but nothing more.

Dwight rubs the back of his damp neck and curling strands. There aren’t as many people walking as usual. The bike lane is near empty, save for a middle aged man pedalling at leisure. He strains his ears for the gentle swells far below them. The endless murmurs of the sea tides glisten with splotches of moonlight. Ripples of stark white against the pulls of near black waves. It always seems so far away. His steps lose rhythm and slow, padding closer to the metal railing. It’s cool against the skin of his hand as it slips along. Boats lit to the brim rock and sway along. Lanterns of life gliding about, their hues reflecting a soft orange on the waters. 

There’s a hum in the air, it rides the winds above. Flashing a small light above in its journey across the sky. The plane leaves a thin streak of clouds in its wake, just barely visible. Dwight sighs, eyes lingering on the sights with each step. 

He must be taking too long now, because as his head rises to gaze at the grand buildings ahead of them, Jake is awaiting. Closer to the sights than himself. Dwight readjusts his glasses meeting the stranger’s eye in apology. Though it’s startling. Jake is watching him intently now. His thin lips pressed in nameless thought. Dwight swipes a sleeve across his face self consciously, then looks back. Whatever had tugged the calm features was gone now. Lost in the leveled expression. 

“You coming?” The hoarse voice questions, the hoodie now resting between his shoulder blades. Jake jerks his head with the command to follow, his matted black hair bouncing slightly. 

Dwight nods. Crossing his arms to keep out the sudden chill as he follows behind the stranger’s lead. He watches his checkered shoes move in their same repetitive movement. Headlights below mesh with red and move in blurs in his peripherals. They continue without a word shared. A strange silence connecting them while others stepped between and brushed past their shoulders, and gave them looks. Still Dwight couldn’t shake the bizarre sensation. As if the only other person on the bridge was the stranger. 

A rough nudge against his arm has Dwight looking up to meet Jake’s face. It’s turned away from his own, staring forward instead. “That’s the city?” He asks without any particular feeling. 

Dwight nods, feeling silly for only being able to bounce his head in agreement. “Well, sort of. You’ll see the difference in the upper east side.” 

Jake’s head tilts in question. 

“I-It’s…” He draws his hands forward, gesturing at nothing in an attempt to jog himself. “It’s more… lively. Not the people but the place itself.” There’s a falter to the slow pick up of his tone. “You know what I mean?” To his relief, a nod is returned. “Have you been to anywhere like this before? Another city?” 

Another head shake from Jake.

“Huh… I just figured, since you didn’t seem too surprised.” 

“...Have you ever been to a beach?” 

“No.” Dwight’s head turns to him in interest. “I mean I’ve seen pictures, I get the jist of it.” 

“You’d like it.” His voice remains flat, but Jake meets his eye for a brief moment. 

It quiets between them until Dwight picks up again. “Have you?” 

“When I was younger.”

“You say that like you’re old.” He backpedals with sudden panic, his heart picking up in embarrassment. “Not that you look it. You’re… uh, fine?” Something about the wordless twitch of Jake’s lips tells him he’s suppressing a grin. Then again something else tells him Jake’s going to fling him over the bridge and have him skid like a stone. With a quick clear of his throat, he restarts. “How come you're here now?”

“Visiting.” 

“Oh! Friends or family?” 

Just like that Jake’s gaze narrows, the calm features suddenly emotionless. It takes Dwight a while to realize he isn’t getting a response. 

_I’m an idiot._ It’s taking every nerve in his body not to drag a hand down his face in frustration. Obviously it’s none of his business to know. He should have asked about the beach again-- that would have gone cleaner. Now it’s too late. 

“20 minutes until we’re across!” His pudgy cheeks upturn, the sliver of white teeth peeking out awkwardly as he lightly pumps his fist. Jake is already out of step with him, now a few paces ahead. 

Right… He shouldn’t keep slowing them down like this. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> first fic. feedback is appreciated


End file.
